Chapter 4 Wolf
WOLF
First off, I was so fucking right. The wolf is definitely a dude, and a giant at that.
He’s gotta be pushing close to seven feet in his bare feet—or, you know, paws since the fur and the claws and the shape are definitely more paw-like than feet—and that’s including the slight hunch to his broad shoulders.
He seems like he’s been carved from a slab of marble, muscle upon muscle, with patches of the same pretty red fur clinging to his chest and his shoulders before trailing down his arms and covering the lower half of his legs.
His human-ish fingers end in claws. Thick black claws that look impossibly sharp, each digit flexing slightly as he gets used to this shape. Behind him, something swishes, and I almost pass out when I figure out that it’s his tail.
Oh my God, oh my God—
I jerk my head up before the little black dots start swimming at the edge of my vision again.
His face is the most human part of him, besides standing on two legs instead of four.
His features are strong and defined, from the jaw that could cut a sheet of paper in half, it’s so damn sharp, and the same brilliant gold eyes I saw on the wolf; as if I’d had any doubts that this wolf-man is the wolf, I recognize the beast by the eyes alone.
His mouth, though… oh, Jesus. Look at those fangs.
Is that a smile or is he bearing those inch-long suckers at me? I can’t tell, and all I can think is that I really am playing the part of Red Riding Hood, he’s the big, bad wolf, and I’m fucked.
He looks down at me as though he’s waiting for something.
I clear my throat and say the first thing that pops into my stunned brain.
“What big eyes you have…” I hear myself squeak because apparently my current coping mechanism is to point out the obvious even when I’m facing off against a fucking werewolf.
His head tilts, listening to me. From this angle, I can’t miss the fangs.
“What big fangs you have… and claws…”
My gaze drops even lower, going from the flexed fingers at his side down to his—
Oh.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I breathe out. “What a big dick you have.”
I’m no shy virgin. Years of therapy, dealing with the way I lost my virginity to a foster dad when I was only ten years old, taught me that I could bury my sexuality deep inside of me or I could embrace it.
For most of my teens, I figured it was going to happen whether or not I wanted it to, and I thought of sex as any other bodily function: eating, drinking, taking a shit.
It was only after I aged out of the system and got a therapist that wasn’t sanctioned by the state that I decided I would have sex because I wanted to, not because I was available.
Is it healthy that I tried to fuck the memory of all those unwanted touches away by seeking out men I chose?
Probably not. Then again, it probably wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism for me to rely on magic and the promise of a wish to find someone who loved me, not just for my body, but because I’m Charlotte Linden and I’m pretty fucking amazing at more than just fucking.
So, yeah, I’ve seen my fair share of dicks. Touched them and tasted them and wondered how I’d fit them inside me, too, but when I have a ten-inch monster dick connected to a real monster almost at eye-level, it’s no wonder I can’t help but point out how fucking big it is.
Shit. He’s not even hard yet, either, though the way his dick is stirring with my eyes on it… yeah, he’s getting there.
Look away, Char. Look away—
He drops to his knees in front of me. On the one hand, now I don’t have to stare at his cock any more. On the other, there’s no doubt that he had a reason for bringing me here, and now that I know he can turn into a wolf-man at will, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that reason is.
I gulp, and he reaches out a claw to me.
“Red,” he growls.
My heart skips a beat.
Most of my life, people have taken one look at my ruby-red hair and decided that my name shouldn’t be Charlotte, it should be Red.
It wasn’t worth the argument and, eventually, I gave in and accepted the nickname.
It was something else I had in common with Goldie.
Almost no one called her by her prissy first name, choosing to refer to her as Goldie instead because of her golden curls.
But how does he know that?
More importantly, he can talk? He can speak English? Does that mean he’s understood everything I’ve said in front of him?
Well, I hope so. “My name isn’t Red,” I tell him, sounding braver than I feel. “It’s Charlotte.”
His eyes flash. “Red,” he repeats. “Mine.”
Excuse me?
Mine…
Before I can demand the wolf-man tell me what he means by that, he moves, and he moves so quickly, there’s no time for me to react before he’s gripped me by my ankles, dragging me into the middle of the blanket pile.
I’m flat on my back, his big body weighing down on mine as his head dips, his nose brushing along my neck again, inhaling deeply as if he can’t get enough of my scent.
My hands come up instinctively, bracing against his chest. I have the sudden urge to put some space between us before he crushes me, but while the wolf-man obviously has no concept of personal space, he’s careful to keep his full weight off of me.
Oh, no. He just uses his inhuman strength to pin me down so there’s no escaping him.
Yeah. That doesn’t work for me.
I slap him on the chest, smacking his nipple. “Hey, you! You don’t—” My voice catches as he shifts his position, scooting down while trailing his nose down my middle. “What are you… no. You don’t get to just—”
He’s not listening to me. As though he’s on a quest and he just reached his destination, he grabs each of my thighs with one of his big ol’ paws, shoves them apart before I can start kicking, and buries his nose against my pussy.
Sometime during his determined exploration, the black nightgown shimmied up enough that the red curls covering my cunt were on display.
Without panties, there was nothing stopping him from following his nose to the juncture between my legs the same way he did when he was a four-legged beast. Now, with two legs and two hands, he uses those hands to toss my legs over his shoulders, gripping my thighs again before reacquainting my body with his tongue.
Later, I’ll tell myself I was so stunned by his fucking audacity that that’s the only reason why I let him lick away for as long as I did.
His tongue was hot, and the way he lapped at my entrance before nuzzling my pussy, nibbling and licking and doing everything he could to find the source of my taste had me forgetting for a second that I didn’t agree to oral with a wolf-man.
In fact, I’m so stunned, all I can remember are the warnings from the village council. About how I’d have to be careful because the beasts of Blackmoor are hungry, and if I wasn’t careful they would want to eat me.
This guy? He wants to eat me out, and I… I don’t push him away at first.
That’s the part that should worry me.
Oh, no. It’s not the mammoth size of him, not the claws, not the fact that I’m pinned in place by something that was a wolf a few minutes ago and is now whatever the hell this is…
nope, it’s the fact that, when his mouth goes wild, when his tongue presses hot and deliberate against my skin, my body doesn’t immediately go into full fight mode in an attempt to get away from him.
Even more notably, given my past, I don’t freeze, either.
Way too many times in my life, I’ve just gone still and taken whatever a guy wanted to do with me.
I learned early on that it was dangerous and, well, pointless to fight back.
Survive, Char. That’s what I had to do, whether that meant playing along and pretending I was into him so he’d get it over faster, or disassociating until it was over and I can hop in the shower.
Then, when I grew up, if anyone ever tried to touch me without my consent, I’d go from easy-going, laidback Charlotte Linden to someone with a temper that matched the color of her hair.
It’s like the time one of the bullies in high school had targeted Goldie.
He made me snap, and I ended up breaking his nose with a lunch tray.
Don’t fuck with those I care about, and don’t try to make me something I don’t want to do and we’ll get along fine.
And that… that’s the problem. Because the way that the wolf-man is all but devouring my pussy, I can’t say that I don’t want him to.
In fact, I hesitated with the first lick, told myself I accepted the second and the third because, hello, werewolf, but it isn’t until I realize that I’m actually into this, that I’m actually squirming, getting close to coming all over his fucking fangs…
because, shit, Charlotte, he has fangs… that I finally let my head take control instead of my libido.
After all, I don’t think I was really serious when I stood with Sandy in that room and decided that I would be willing to fuck a monster if that’s what it took to get my wish. I mean, if I have to, I’m sure I could, but not without a fight first.
And I really, really don’t think I want to fight a werewolf. Too bad that’s the rational side of Charlotte Linden talking. Yeah. I don’t listen to her all that often which is why I finally react the way I do.
Maybe it’s not the smartest move in the world, but I kick him in his back with my heel, trying not to cry out when that hurts.
Damn it, he really might be carved out of stone for how muscular and hard he is, and I don’t just mean the erection that says ‘peekaboo’ when he rears back, leaving my pussy unsatisfied and my legs spread wide open.
I close them, glaring up at the confused look on his notably shiny face.
I refuse to be embarrassed that he buried his mouth against me and I left enough of my juices on his face to gloss up his chin. Call it body betrayal all you want, but when you have a tongue like that going at you, it’ll happen.
And, if he has it his way, it’ll happen again.
Before I can tell him to get away from me, he attempts to dive back in. He slips his hand between my thighs, ready to push them apart, when I slap the back of his furry hand with my palm.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I snap. “No. Stop it!”
He takes his hand back. And then he says, “Wolf,” like that explains everything.
Yeah. I know. He was a wolf before, he’s a wolf-man now, and I’m not about to let a werewolf get me off just because he’s decided that he found me in the woods so now he can do whatever he wants to me.
I hold up my hand. “Stay back, Fido. Keep your distance.”
His brow furrows. He points at his chest. “I am Wolf.” Leaning forward, he lays his palm against one of my tits. “You are Red.”
I slap his hand again. “Name’s Charlotte. And stop groping me. I don’t know who you are or what you are, but this… none of this… is okay. Got me?”
“Why?” he asks.
Is he kidding me?
I blink at him.
“I’ve waited so long to find out how you taste.” He licks his lips, eyes flashing a bright gold that I’m pretty sure I can’t blame on the fireplace. “You are delicious. I want more.”
“That’s…” I swallow, trying to get my thoughts to line up into something coherent while my pulse is still racing for entirely different reasons. What he could do with that tongue… “That’s not how this works.”
He watches me, head tilted slightly, waiting for me to either explain or say ‘fuck it’, fall back into the pile of blankets again, and let him taste away.
I figure it’s a good sign that he isn’t just taking what he wants.
Maybe consent is a new concept for a man who spends most of his time as a wolf in an enchanted forest, but if there’s one thing I can do, it’s let him know that I’m not the type of woman to let a strange wolf-man give her head because he’s horny and she’s…
well, okay, once he had his tongue on me, I was a little horny, too.
What’s wrong with me? I should be whimpering in the corner, terrified. When I was lying next to a wolf, I was, but once he turned into something much closer to a man… I guess it makes sense that, when you think about it, I much preferred Beast to Prince Adam in Beauty and the Beast.
Still, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to give complete control over to a beast of Blackmoor because he thinks he can have it—and me.